tђє๏гץ ๏Ŧ ๔єlเгเย๓
by Imagined-Ink
Summary: Hey, it wasn't his fault they walked in when they did-it was just a case of bad timing. All Bill was doing was having a little "fun"...even if it hurt. After all, pain is hilarious!


**Short Summary: **_Bill is having fun with his new vessel, when things go awry._

**Toxic-label:** _Self-inflicted harm, and blood._

**Author's Note:** I also posted this on tumblr, so if you see it there, it's mine.

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><p>The first cut stung like the bite of a wasp.<p>

That's exactly how large the incision was as well. Hardly a knick, nothing more, and it ticked Bill off. Darn these tiny, fumbling hands. Dipper's miniscule little body wasn't good at handling blades, and it was getting difficult to aim where he wanted the knife to go. Into the skin, not around it.

The mirror behind him gave a loud, shaking clatter. Hardly turning his head to acknowledge the sound, "Bipper" let out a short bark of laughter. "What's wrong, Pine Tree? Feeling _nauseous?_"

Dipper Pines had his hands pressed to the glass, his mouth constantly moving to form words that Bill couldn't hear through the difference in planes. Trapped in the Nightmare World he'd once been imprisoned in himself, the child was now becoming victim to its will. He could already see the changes being made to the ghostly form. The hair was beginning to shrivel up; his eyes were slowly darkening and thinning into malevolent slits. Soon enough they'd look like twins, more-so than the boy and his sister.

He laughed again, waving the tiny razor around lazily. Stan should have known to keep these sort of things out of the reach of children, but then again, the old man didn't notice anything. Not even as Bill had caused so much un-Dipper-like chaos, Stan had just looked right past it. Mabel might have picked up on something, but if she knew, she wasn't showing it. It was lucky that he'd walked in when he had, during her puppet show. Dipper had almost made contact using one of her puppets as a vessel.

That would have ruined everything in his plan, had that happened.

"C'mon, buddy! We're about to have so much fun! I mean, this is gonna be _great!"_ As he spoke, the grin spread across his face twisted violently, causing a soft ripple of pain to spread through his cheeks. The human body could only bend so far, the skin pull to a certain degree, and each time he bordered that edge-line, it made him so, _so_ happy.

Dipper's mouth opened and closed again. He was probably shouting something like '_Stop! Please!_'. He could almost hear the kid's voice whining in his ears, and it only made him laugh louder. "Pines, you're taking this way too seriously! This is funny—watch!"

And then the first real cut was made. The noise that Bill made was a strangled cross between a laugh and a scream, and it felt _amazing_. The skin split like wet paper, and blood, precious blood, poured down his vessel's arm, running down in a sticky mess to coat his fingertips. It was a good thing the kid had short sleeves, or else his shirt would have gotten stained. That would have just been bad taste.

Serpentine eyes rolled back to watch Dipper's reaction, crinkling up as the success of the disgust revealed itself on the boy's face. The ghost in the mirror began to wildly slam its fists against the glass, bending it, but nowhere near getting it to shatter. He wasn't going to get out of there, no matter how hard he tried, and that growing revelation made Bill's skin tingle. Right…it _was_ his skin now. It was _his_ body.

And that meant he could do _whatever_ he wanted to it.

'_It's just a few modifications.'_ He told himself, lifting the red coated blade to the light. '_Besides, it feels too good to stop now—this is hilarious!'_

Another cut, this time lower down. Pain and excitement mixed into one, pooling into his mind and urging him forward. He pressed the razor to his noodle arms a couple more times, relishing the pain, before he found it growing more and more tedious. It was the same degree of pain, and that was so boring. It stung a bit, burned, and then ached a little.

He wanted _more_.

"Hey…Pine Tree. I've got a riddle for you." Yellow eyes blinked, one at a time, as glistening teeth curled into a sadistic snarl. _"What growls but doesn't bite?"_

The banging paused for a moment as Dipper's own eyes widened, the pupils shrinking as the fear on his face grew. Whether or not he actually knew the answer, however, Bill didn't really care. He was too into the idea festering in the pits of his twisted mind. Oh, there was so much he wanted to do—but this. This was too delicious to pass up. He could already feel it, and he hadn't even done it yet.

"Don't know the answer? It's simple, Dipper! It's…_your stomach!"_

The razor came down like an axe, and this time, Bill did let out a cry. No laughter, but the tears that sprang to his inhuman eyes made up for it. Oh, the pain. It hurt. It hurt so _good_.

So easily, like butter, the knife slipped across his abdomen, springing up a fountain of red in its wake. His side bled easily, and he dragged the blunt object farther down, doing the same over and over. His ruined hand clutched the seat of the toilet he leaned on, smearing a bloody handprint across the porcelain surface. This hurt. This _hurt_. _This was PAIN._

"Aha…ahaha…," he managed out a soft giggle, before the river of lava in his throat shot up, spewing out in a torrent of blood mixed with psychotic laughter. It spilled from across his tongue, dribbled down his chin, and permeated the air like poisonous gas. _"Ahahahaha!_ Oh, man! Oh, _man_ this is _rich_! This is the _best thing ever!"_

He hadn't even noticed how Dipper was beginning to fade away, curled in on himself, and shaking violently. Oh, he'd done it now, hadn't he? Had he broken something in the boy's mind, forcing him to watch as his own body was ravished with a blade? He would have felt bad, if he wasn't in the body at the moment.

Wait, that was a lie. He would have loved it anyway.

And he did.

He _loved_ it.

"Hey…dude!"

He froze. That wasn't Pine Tree's voice. Nor was it the old man's…whose was it again?

"Dipper, dude, you in there! I heard you laughing—I left a joke book in there earlier, something to pass the time with, ya know?"

Soos. Was that the name? He really wasn't interested in thinking about it further, as the irony of the situation fell on him. The knife in his hand stilled to a stop. What would happen if someone walked in at the moment? Would they scream? Would they cry? Would they laugh?

He was all too curious to know. But it would blow his cover, if someone discovered what he was up to. At least, Mabel would probably figure it out. Shooting Star did have a rather perceptive way about things, as densely as she acted.

"Uh…yeah! Haha! These jokes are great! What did one hand say to the other? Ah, classic!" Foolish words poured from his lips as his palm trembled with anticipation. Would this guy just leave already? He was _interrupting something important._

"Yeah…haha!" The voice came from the other side of the door. "Look, dude, I hate to do this, but I was cleaning up earlier today in the shop, and I got in a little scuffle with some dust bunnies, so I'm just gonna pop in and wash my hands, okay?"

"Wait, no!" Panic began to surface in the demon's mind. This guy couldn't be serious! For a moment, he looked down, surveying his blood-crusted and adrenaline-filled state. This wasn't good. Not at all. "I'm, uh…you know. Doing human bathroom stuff, uh…_dude!"_

"Hey, its okay, I'm not gonna look!" This '_Soos'_ fellow was far too cheerful about this entire thing, and it was making Bill more and more antsy. "I'll just wash up and head right back out, I swear on the honor of a Boy Scout! Not me, of course, but someone who is a Boy Scout. Are you a Boy Scout? I might as well swear on you, you're close enough, haha!"

And then the door opened. Bill tried desperately to hide the bloodied blade, but the moment his eyes locked with the handyman's, he froze. Oops. _Busted_.

One hand held the razor high, near dropping it in the sink, while the other was fisted in Dipper's shirt, revealing a good fraction of the cuts he'd made across his body's waistline. And the ones on his arms…well, there was no hiding those. Besides, everything was sticky with fluids.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the demon felt rather regretful in his decision. It would have been easier to do this in the woods somewhere, but he'd planned to clean up afterwards.

"Whoops." He let out a shaky laugh, feeling his eye twitch in churning nervousness. Was this what human guilt felt like? Bill felt as if he were going to expel every molecule in his body from the orifice in his face. It was so unpleasant. Much less desirable than the stinging pain that radiated from his self-inflicted cuts. "I guess I should have locked that."

A few seconds passed, with tension hanging in the air as Soos made no move towards or away from him. Instead, his pig-like features just sat there, twisted in shock, before the first words were out of his mouth. And like Bill had feared, they were a name.

"Mister Pines? _Mister Pines!_"

Footsteps were heavy on the stairs. Two sets, and all at once, Bipper whirled around, unable to keep this '_guilt'_ from controlling his actions any longer. Whatever he'd ingested before, which had been quite a lot of things he found out were indigestible the hard way, came back up his throat, pouring into the red-tinted water of the toilet beside him. Ah, man. This wasn't _funny_.

They'd ruined the punch-line.

Almost simultaneously, two bodies appeared. Soos's voice had been so panicked, so fear-filled, that it probably would have drawn the whole store in, had he just called out for help, instead of that particular person. But, how had Bill not expected Shooting Star to show up with the old man? They were a '_family'_, after all. It was sickening how close they stuck with each other. Disgusting human connections, always _ruining_ everything.

"Soos, what is it? I've got a whole buncha tourists that just came in from New York—it's a gold mine down there-," whatever money-selfish words that were about to pour out of Stan's mouth shattered in his mouth. Bipper watched the con-man stop short behind his larger friend, staring at the nervous demon with wide, confused eyes.

It was almost like he didn't understand what he was seeing. After all, walking in a child hurting themselves…well, it was enough to give any parental figure a horrible shock. Wasn't this the kid he was supposed to be taking care of? What had caused this? Why would Dipper do this to himself?

He could see it all written on Stanford's features, as the emotions flickered back and forth, from sickness to anger to sadness, to disappointment. And Shooting Star…

Well, let's just say the blade got knocked out of his hand before he could even realize it. He'd been so entranced in watching the heartbreak on their caretaker's face, that he'd hardly noticed the sibling's body tumbling towards his, her face broken with feeling. There were fluids leaking everywhere across her face. From her eyes, her nose, even her mouth. That was gross—and _funny_.

"Dipper, _what are you doing?!"_ She screamed, her fists like tiny battering rams.

Dipper. She'd called him _Dipper_. That was a mistake on his part, to start laughing at something so miniscule, but he couldn't help it. It was just so very _funny_. The entire thing. Dipper wasn't even here anymore! For all he knew, the little ghost was floating around somewhere in the Dreamscape, trying to find a way out. Not that he'd probably want to be in _this_ situation.

"Ahaha, c-c'mon Shooting St—Mabel! This isn't really fair..." Bill lifted his hands to defend himself from the harsh punches of his vessel's sister. But she was a lot stronger than she tended to let on. It hurt, especially when they landed on the places he'd cut. Then again, as he allowed the sensation of the bruises against the lacerations to sink in, he found he was quite enjoying it. Yet, just as he decided to let her beat him senseless, she was being pulled off him, and he was being lifted up.

"Fair? _Fair!" _Fire raged in the young girl's eyes as she clawed in his direction, unable to reach him by a hair's breadth. Bill kind of wondered what it'd feel like, if she'd scratched the places that were still bleeding. How bad would that hurt? How _good_?

"This entire thing isn't fair, Dipper! What were you thinking, you—you stupid dummy!" As she began to cry again, Soos moved to hand her off to their great-uncle, only to have the old man take a step back. Apparently the shock was really getting to him, and the smile that was plastered to Bill's face didn't waver an inch. He looked like he was gonna have a heart attack—hilarious. Wouldn't _that_ be something?

"Kid…," Stan managed out. Hardly planning to listen, the demon kept himself occupied with watching everyone's changing expressions. It was hard for humans to keep their faces in one position for too long, as he could feel his jaws aching from smiling so much. But he had a reason to smile. He'd expected this to go badly.

But everyone was so _hurt_ looking. Like a bunch of kicked puppies. And that was the best punch-line to a joke he could have ever thought of. Breaking the kid's family's hearts…why hadn't he thought about it earlier?

"Soos, get him in the car." The words were clipped and sharp, so unlike the normal laid-back, throaty snark the old man usually carried. Ooh, he was ticked off. This was getting better and better by the second.

"B-But, Mister Pines-!" The overweight handyman sputtered, keeping the bleeding child held tight to his chest. Bill coughed, trying to push away, only to have himself pulled back even tighter. This guy was _choking_ him. And as much as he enjoyed the feeling of having his ribcage crushed, if he lost consciousness, all the _fun_ would end!

"_Soos. Car. Now."_ It was three tiny words, but they were enough, and before he could register anything, he was being whirled down the stairs. Their uncle led the charge of the group, shouting warnings at anybody who came too close. Oh, the drama. Oh, the _suspense!_

And just a while ago he'd been worried! This was so exciting, so new. What would happen next? Would Stan drive them off the edge of a cliff in heartache? Would he take "Dipper" out into the woods, yell at him? Maybe he'd get lucky, and the old man would finish him off himself. Multiple endings happily tormented the ex-omnipresent being's brain, all of them with a horrific, murderous end.

They were all situated in the vehicle before he could say, _"Buy, Gold, Bye!" And _as the car pulled out of the driveway, leaving a load of confused, dejected customers standing outside the closed shop, Bill turned his head from where he was forcibly nestled in Soos's arms, to wink in the crowd's direction. These poor people didn't even know what they'd stumbled into, but at least they could leave the show unscathed. Not like the poor saps he was trapped in the car with. Oh, no. There was so much to be done with them once this entire thing came to an end.

The entire ride along, Bill hummed the _"Death March"_ under his breath, unable to hold back his snickers at the looks he received from it. They all looked so broken. Like porcelain dolls that had been taken from their precious wonderlands, only to be smashed onto the floor, and swept up with the rest of the garbage. He couldn't help it. As much as his subconscious, now that he actually had one, tried to urge him to quit while he was ahead—he didn't want to. He wanted to draw this out for as long as he possibly could. Make them suffer as much as possible.

Nothing lasted forever, so it was nice to keep the moment going.

But they drove past the woods. Past all cliff edges. Past Gravity Falls, in fact. And that's when it hit him. They weren't going to kill him, like he'd hoped. They were taking him to a hospital.

_A hospital._ Where people went to…he shuddered, get _better. _Like a rabid cat, he ripped at the two hams wrapped around his tiny frame, feeling the skin under his shirt pull at a deliciously dangerous angle. If he kept going, he'd start to bleed again. It would have been the only good part of the trip, but then Soos, pulled Mabel up the front with him, and they both pulled their arms around his struggling frame, to hold him tight. The sister's pig even joined in on the pressure party, jumping up to sit on "Dipper's" lap. They thought that _hugging_ him was going to make this better?

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

"Guys, this whole thing has been _fun_—but I'm _fine!_ Really! It was all a big misunderstanding! A big, human misunderstanding!"

Nobody responded.

And Stan had been so quiet, the entire time. The entire drive. He hadn't said a word to anyone, no matter how Bill had tried to prod a reaction from him. The songs were causing anything. The laughter. Even the whispered words he'd tried out, _"I wanna die",_ _"Let me out here",_ _"Think a car would hit me if I threw myself out this window?"_ None of them worked. How disappointing.

They pulled into the establishment's parking lot, like a freight train, pushing by every other slow-paced car. Those people were taking their time, pulling into and out of death so lazily. The demon wanted to enjoy that, but his nervousness was making his palms sweat. Man, this human body was so indifferent to controlling the way it let out fluids.

Not even trying to struggle anymore, the demon was pulled out of his seating placement, to be handed off to the rough-handed parental figure. Stan was finally doing something at least, so Bill couldn't keep dissatisfied for long. But that ended so quickly when the first nurse rushed out to take him from the old man's arms. Ah, that was only kind of funny. People rushing to save a life that was never in any danger. He was only having some _fun_—c'mon, guys! Why didn't more people do that? It was great—feeling your life slip away, only to realize that you've got complete control over how much of it you could lose, and at what pace. You want to almost die? Cut deeper. You wanna die a little? Cut a little!

He'd just gotten…_carried away_, is all.

More of the white-clad people appeared as he was dragged away from his teary-faced family, working simultaneously to strip him down and wrap-up his dried and/or bleeding wounds at the same time. Stan was still the most stoic of the group, while a storm raged in his eyes. Unable to suppress the growing urge, Bill winked one more time, just to see what would happen, and laughed at the results.

That _never_ got old.

After they'd gotten him trussed up, they'd tossed him into a visitor's bed, and put a needle in his arm, hooked up to a machine filled with blood. A fluids transfer. They were trying to push his life back into him. Then again, everyone seemed to understand how 'dire' the situation was, after Bill found out how fun needles were to play with. They were sharp too, and they could suck out and inject stuff—how cool was that? If he played with it long enough, maybe he could figure out how to suck out the fluid in his brain, or the air out of his lungs! Was that a thing? It could be. He would have figured out a way, had the nurses not taken it from him.

They took everything, actually. And that was a big disappointment. Everything doctor's used was so…sharp. Hypnotizing blades, metal wires, plastic tubes, silicone string. All of it used to both break and fix human bodies. It felt so funny, to watch them stitch up his sides, even as they'd injected him with stuff that made his body go numb, and his brain go hazy. That had sucked. He'd wanted to _feel_ that. After all, what was the point of breaking yourself if you couldn't feel it all getting _fixed?_

A nurse hung around the side of his bed, slapping at his arm every time the curious demon tugged at the crimson-filled tube leading into his wrist. How messy would things get if he just yanked it out? The blood would probably go everywhere—that would be entertaining.

He was just about to try it, too, when the door opened again. So many people had come in and out. Nurses, doctors…everyone had something to say to him. Some had chided his foolhardy behavior, some had almost nearly yelled at him. Some of them were so cold…their words so dead. He liked those people the best, and the least. They were so uninteresting to interact with, but if he ever had the chance to experiment with the mentality of someone like that, wouldn't that be neat? How much would it take to break that kind of person's resolve, he wondered.

It wasn't a doctor, though. Or a nurse. No, no. It was the Pines', and Soos. He was the one who had caused this whole thing to go down. If only that stupid, oddly-shaped headed handyman had minded his own business. Or carried around Germ-X!

The three people crowded around the doorway, speaking in low tones with the nurse, who had finally turned her head. Yes, perfect. His fingers twitched towards the tubing in his arm, only to freeze when the loud squeal of a pig rang through the room. Waddles, that fat lump of flesh, leapt out of Shooting Star's arms, to throw itself onto the bed. Almost as if it were trying to stop him, the pig jumped forward, pressing all of its weight on Bill's chest. With the oxygen knocked out of him, the demon could only lie there, unable to push himself back up.

"Unfair, unfair, unfair!" He yelled, glaring angrily at the porky animal. "You're cheating! That's no fair!"

It only snorted in response, looking proud of itself for its _'good deed'_. Stupid animal. Why did they like this thing again? It was so…pink. And squishy. Like Soos, but smaller.

Once the family managed to wrestle their way inside, much to the chagrin of the nurse, who decided that it was '_time for her break'_, they all gathered around the pristine bedspread, each holding a different expression. Shooting Star clambered up to join her pet, and to pull her '_brother'_ into a hug at the same time. With both of them lying on him, he was really beginning to regret his decision. He'd wanted pain as a result—not this lovey-dovey familial stuff! It was so icky.

"Kid, we know something's up." Grunkle finally addressed him, for the first time in hours. Arms crossed over his chest, his eyes sparking like lightning. Something a bit interesting. "Ever since Mabel's puppet-show, you've been…_different_."

There was something off about the old man's posture. His tone of voice. Oh. _Oh._

_He knew._

Well, how about _that?_ Somewhere deep inside Bill was certain he'd known that face. Now he knew from _where_.

Oh, yeah. So long ago. It felt like forever, when in reality, to an eternal omnipresence like himself, it was just a mere blink in the passage of time.

But now things were going to be different. There was no use hiding it now. Besides, maybe if he just told the truth, they'd learn to back off. After all, they did just see what he was capable of. Something, much, _much_ worse could have happened.

Well, what did he have to lose, exactly? This would bring up a whole new adventure—and maybe he'd get them to cry again. His human mouth had run dry from lack of fluids, and the salty, iron taste of the blood that had poured across his tongue only added to that need for water. What a pathetic body, constantly needing to ingest and expel things.

The bandages over his head enwrapped the places he'd spent time scratching at, before he'd begun slicing up his appendages. He'd hoped to have kept those hidden, but in their search, the doctors had found them. Big, crusted spots where the blood had piled up and dried, like ant beds across his scalp.

Now he had no chance to scratch at them, even if he wanted to. Now he had nothing to take his mind off the nervous pressure building in his abdomen again. There was nothing to make his words relaxed, or lazy sounding. But what was the point of that? If he was going to put on a show, he was going to put on a good one.

Slowly, Bipper leaned forward, letting the messy array of locks that the nurses had spent time scrubbing the blood out of to fall over his wide, cat-eyed pupils. His hands rested on his legs, buried under the thin sheets of the clean bedding. Everything here was so…_pristine_. Yuck.

He watched the family's faces change, and even Mabel seemed to grow nervous. Slowly, she and Waddles scooted back across the bed, to join Soos and Stan at the end. Once the trio and pig were within his eye sight, he gave in. Once, just once, he blinked, one eye after another, and let a face-splitting grin spread across his face as a strange revelation grew on their faces, in different degrees of confusion and fear.

Little Dipper's not here anymore, folks.

It's Big Bipper, now.

"Nice, to meet you, Pines family." Bill chuckled, extending a bandaged palm to the empty air.

"The name's Bill. Bill Cipher."


End file.
